


What Honor Brings

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Library of Moria Series [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-21
Updated: 2003-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn is afraid to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Honor Brings

**Author's Note:**

> Second in the Library of Moria Series (thus named because every fic in the series came about because of boredom and Library of Moria's [Random Pairing Generator](http://www.libraryofmoria.com/rpgmm.html)).
> 
> Series Explanation: I was bored. I was browsing the Library of Moria website. I played around with the pairing generator. The following stories are what resulted. 30 minute fics.

Isildur had been a great man. Far-sighted enough to take the sapling of Nimloth, strong  
enough to be a war chief. Governed men, and set up the next monarch of men. But he was   
only known for one thing: taking the Ring.

Among elves that is. Men still remembered him as he was: strong, victorious, beautiful.   
Aragorn could vouch for that beauty himself. He had seen it often, in his dreams,   
plaguing his waking moments. The solitude did nothing to help. Isildur spoke to him,   
whispering through the ages, telling him of deeds, and shores no mortal eye had seen for   
an Age.

He dreaded sleep, for in sleep came his distant ancestor to torment him, to talk to him.   
Speak to him of things no man should know. Give him pleasure no mortal should have.

Elendil's son was beautiful. Elendil's son was dead. And Isildur knew it, which Aragorn   
considered as bad as knowledge of the first. The dead had no compunctions. The dead had   
no conscience. The dead had no clothes.

Elendil had haunted Arathorn, Elrond had told him, but not until the first time Isildur   
came to him, had Aragorn understood. He did now. Arathorn had been haunted by Elendil.   
Tempted by him. Taken by him. And had died.

Aragorn wondered if his fate was to be the same.

But, as much as he wished he had the strength, Aragorn could not wish Isildur away.   
Would not even let himself try. More than anything, he treasured Isildur's caresses. His  
platitudes. His advice. His love.

Love? Was that it? No, Aragorn told himself, Isildur did not love him. Isildur wanted to   
protect him from the folly that had taken his life. Long had Isildur whispered to him.   
'I gave in to my desires, and thus doomed my people. It was precious to me...and the   
pain which bought it was the doom of all. Rightly do they call it Isildur's Bane.' And   
then the ghost would kiss his grandson's head and continue, 'but you, Aragorn, are   
Isildur's Heir. And you will conquer my Bane.' Conquer. Vanquish. Isildur's words rang   
true only when he was there to say them.

"Why do you torment me, my liege?" Aragorn would ask, night after night, as Isildur's   
kisses grew bolder and Aragorn felt the stirrings begin anew. But Isildur never   
answered. He would beseech the shadow as his arousal grew and nearly beg at his release.

But Isildur never answered.


End file.
